Dear Becky
We invited Vancouver actress (and friend of the YVR Screen Scene Podcast) Rukiya Bernard to share her thoughts on #BlackLivesMatter and white supremacy in the film and television industry. What follows is a highly emotional and beautifully crafted creative personal essay, in which her protagonist – who has played the “Black Best Friend Forever” in numerous television rom-coms – pens a letter to the white star of these films. –Ed.
Dear Becky,
It’s me: your Black Best Friend Forever in every rom-com movie. You know, the sassy, funny, “urban” friend? The one intent on helping you find love but doesn’t have a storyline of her own?
Hi! We need to talk.
I’m not happy with the way things are going. I haven’t been for a while. I’m angry, I’m tired, and things need to change.
Rukiya Bernard. Photo by Kristine Cofsky
We’ve been friends for a long time. I’ve always been there for you. I was there when Jake dumped you at the start of the movie. I was there for you in act two, when your boss was being really mean and you had that big presentation. And I was there for you at the end of the movie when you fell in love with Steve, got the dream job, and the happily-ever-after.
But do you ever wonder what happened to me? The truth is, it hasn't been all peaches and cream - and I suspect you know that.
My ever-after is me getting paid less for doing the same job as you (and doing it just as well). It’s me being followed in stores because people think I’m stealing. It’s me straightening my hair, using skin lighteners, and contouring my make-up so my features look more “refined.” It’s me afraid to call the cops when I need them because history tells me they’ll think I’m the criminal. It’s me having to endure people assuming I’m not Canadian because I’m Black. Instead, they ask, “But where are you really from?”
I mean, Becky, don’t get me wrong: my life is fine. I’m very proud to be Black. I survive and thrive, but it’s not your privileged happily-ever-after.
Why am I telling you this? Where is this coming from? I need you to understand me for the first time ever.
The other day – a couple of weeks after the video of George Floyd’s murder went viral – you texted me:
“I’m so sorry this is happening to you. I just want to check in on your mental wellness. I feel so bad. I’m torn. My dad is a cop, so I want you to know that not all cops are bad. I’ve never seen colour in my life so I’m not racist but will commit to getting woke. You tell me what I can do. I feel helpless. Black Lives Matter because All Lives Matter. (heart emoji)”
Now, George’s murder was the third in a trio of racially spurred killings in the United States that made international news. The first was Ahmaud Arbery, a 25-year-old Black man in Georgia gunned down by a father-son racist duo as he jogged. The second was Breonna Taylor, an award-winning EMT who was fatally shot, while sleeping, by three officers in Louisville, Kentucky. The third was poor Mr. Floyd, whose life was stolen by four Minneapolis cops. He begged for his life. He called for his mama. He told the officers he couldn’t breathe. For nine minutes, Officer Derek Chauvin crushed George’s airway until he was gone. Three other cops stood watching.
All of that happened in the first two weeks of May. I know you know that because you “liked” my social media posts about them.
But, right after you texted me, you posted a cute selfie of you and Steve, drinking lattes in the sun and playing with your new puppy.
Nothing about your public presence reflected your private message to me. It felt like lip service.
So I’m pissed, Becky.
Your silence betrayed me.
Why didn’t you post about it? Because you’re uncomfortable? Because you thought it wasn’t your place to talk about racism? Because you’re white? Because you choose to believe that racism doesn’t exist?
When you wrote “I’m so sorry, blah, blah, blah," did you text your white friends to tell them the same thing? Or just me, your one Black friend? By the way, why am I your only Black friend?
Why did you tokenize this as my issue?
Police brutality is not just a Black problem, Becky. It’s a community problem. As tax-paying citizens, we are part of the same community, and our criminal justice system is broken.
You’re aware of this. You have been for years - it hasn’t been a secret.
So why have you deemed it a Black person’s problem, and not one that involves you too?
It makes me question your ethics and our friendship Becky. It makes me think you saw my humanity as separate from yours. Possibly less than yours.
I mean, a selfie with your dog and a latte, Becky?!
But sure, you’re sorry now. You’re becoming woke now. You wanna do something about it now. You’re on your hero’s journey and you vow to make a change.
And as hurt and betrayed as I feel, I’m glad you’re taking action. It’s about time! The solidarity is reaffirming, heart warming, albeit bittersweet. You’ve always gotten the job done by act three so I have faith things can work out.
You’re getting together with your white friends to talk about Black people and racism for the first time. The KKK has been doing it for generations; it’s about time the opposing white viewpoint discussed it too.
So, yes, this is good. You’re reporting how you’re now an ally and you’re constantly asking my advice. But, Becks, it’s weird - these unsolicited dispatches. I mean, I guess it’s your attempt to make amends - like I’m a Catholic priest and you’re in confessional seeking absolution.
You’re asking me to tell you what to do, to educate you on my lifelong trauma, and to keep you “woke” so you stay on the redemptive path. It’s like you’re asking me to validate your belief that you’re not racist.
And as happy as I am that you’re waking up, it’s me helping you once more. I guess that’s why they call it a supporting role.
How did I fall back into this part? How did this become about you? Again?
And then it hits me like a tonne of bricks: I think you feel entitled to my support, like you’ve unconsciously come to expect that it is my job to give it to you - casting me in this role of YOUR lifetime.
I’ve learned to play my part well, to be supportive, agreeable, and nice because my safety, employability, and place in society depend on your acceptance.
It’s a learned behaviour entrenched from surviving centuries of white supremacy and forced Black servitude. It’s the very foundation of Western culture and how the narratives in our movies play out for viewers to watch from the comfort of their homes.
I play my role and you play yours.
Don’t take the following metaphor too literally but I can’t shake it from my mind. It feels like every time I step into yet another dominant white narrative, the highest position I can achieve is a supporting role. It’s like I’m the house slave to your master.
A former field slave promoted to The Big House to help out. A bigger part. Now closer in proximity to you, I help with all your basic needs, cooking, cleaning, laundering, wet-nursing, etc. I support you completely, suppressing my needs and desires as you live in a bubble of Antebellum bliss and riches - provided free of charge by me.
And at first I’m relieved. It’s seemingly better in The Big House. The field has been brutal. But the longer I stay here, playing this thinner, Mammy-esque role, my soul wears thin as my life, my story is silenced to “bolster and legitimize your status-quo.” Ellen Jones of the BBC speaks so eloquently to this sentiment.
Can you see the parallel? If the metaphor of the Big House is Hollywood’s storytelling machine, can you see how we’re both playing parts in a system that maintains separation and white dominance? It’s been there from the birth of our nation - pun intended.
Further, in both metaphor and reality, if I’m good and loyal, I’m rewarded. I can pay my bills, feed my family, and maintain a career without needing a part time job – something only 2% of actors in North America can do.
However, if I’m outspoken, angry, and speak out about the injustices in our industry, then I risk ruining my career. I could be blackballed – and jeopardizing my dreams which I’ve worked so hard to accomplish.
This letter is a risk.
Rukiya Bernard. Photo by Kristine Cofsky
So I grit my teeth, smile, and tell my aching soul it’s just to survive another day. I subjugate my instincts and instead remain your BBFF on screen.
The movies we’re making, Becky, maintain an antiquated narrative of white, cis-gendered, hetero-patriarchal supremacy, all under the veil of laughs, drama, action, and adventure.
Says Nancy Wang Yuen in Reel Inequality: Hollywood Actors and Racism: “Hollywood’s stories, though fictional, transmit real ideologies. Audiences often blur the lines between fiction and reality, projecting their learned-on-screen biases into the real world. When film and television privilege white stories over other stories, they reinforce a racial hierarchy that devalues people of colour (POC).” (See Reel Inequality: Hollywood Actors And Racism (2016) by Nancy Wang Yuen for more).
You see, POC actors are often typecast based on their skin colour, not their individualism. They’re hired to play an idea-of-a-person some writer (normally white and male) has had. It results in two-dimensional caricatures that end up contrasting the white star’s more nuanced, rounded character-driven performances. This inevitably elevates the white story and degrades the POC at the same time.
Don’t believe me? Here are some parts Black people have repeatedly portrayed on screen – all of which I’ve auditioned for over the course of my career:
Ghetto Baby Mama (aka Welfare Queen)
Gangsta Bitch (aka Black Bitch)
Slave
Drug Dealer (aka Black Brute)
Jolly and Homeless (aka Jim Crow)
Mammy (aka Aunt Jemima/Uncle Tom)
Angry Black woman (aka Sapphire)
Evil Voodoo Priestess
Stupid Primitive Immigrant From Nowhere-Specific Africa
Rude Immigrant From Jamaica or Nigeria (usually a maid, nurse or inmate)
General Criminal
Prostitute (aka Jezebel)
Pimp (aka Mandingo)
The Do-Gooder In Need Of A White Saviour (crying stuff like “All my life I’ve had to work!” with snot coming out of her nose.)
Crack Addict
It’s fucked up, huh, Becky? Have you ever played those parts?
No? That’s the systemic racism of Hollywood.
The pervasive practice of casting Black actors in these stereotypes is a danger to the Black population around the world as it’s taught audiences negative opinions of Black people.
What have we done?
To be fair, film and TV have become more diverse in recent years, but the stars are still mostly Caucasian. Other than a few creators like Shonda Rhimes and Mindy Kaling, who are making a concerted effort to truly diversify, we’re still falling short representing diverse audiences – especially in Canada.
It’s time for me to see myself in the faces of writers, producers, directors, network execs, studio execs, award show voting committees, union boards, etc. so they can create and showcase stories that better reflect our colourful community.
It’s time for you, as a proclaimed white ally, to get involved in anti-racism causes and volunteer your time and emotional labour for diversity and inclusion initiatives.
Its time for you to learn Black and Indigenous history. In fact, it’s time for you to learn about the history outside of the white paradigm - to absorb the ugly truth of how our country came to be.
Becky, instead of those sun-soaked lattes with Steve in a predominantly white neighbourhood, perhaps pick up a book or Google your questions instead of burdening me with them.
If we’re going to remain friends, and elevate our art, I need you to shift. The world needs you to shift. No more denial about what’s really going on and why. We need to be the Thelma to each other’s Louise and get real. The playing field needs to level off and that’s gonna require you to play a better supporting part to me. It’s time to establish a new status quo.
With hope for a better future,
The Artist Formerly Known as BBFF
PS. As for your All Lives Matter comment in the text? I’ll leave you with a quote by Arthur Chu: “Would you run through a cancer fundraiser saying ‘THERE ARE OTHER DISEASES TOO!’?”
Our criminal justice system is broken and should be defunded. Google it. #BlackLivesMatter
Rukiya Bernard is a Leo Award-winning and UBCP/ACTRA Award-nominated actress. She's best known for playing Doc on Syfy's popular post-apocalyptic series, 'Van Helsing.' Rukiya’s lengthy list of credits includes ‘The Magicians,’ ‘Freaky Friday,’ ‘Supernatural,’ ‘Travelers,’ ‘Android Employed,’ and the award-winning short Reel Women Seen, which explores the shoddy manner in which women are treated in the film industry.
Top image by Kristine Cofsky
